A Lesson in Losing
by IrishRose
Summary: The second in the new Newsie series by the authors of Manhattan Kin. Mush loves and loses.


Reader Disclaimer: This piece took an exceptionally long time due to the author's ardent dislike of her main female character. Pease forgive the tedious wait and enjoy the story.  
  
  
A Lesson in Losing  
  
  
  
Verena Olsen stepped out of her great uncle's carriage at 5:30 a.m. on January 3rd, 1899, followed by her three young sisters, her father, tired and aged before his time, and her mother, carrying the youngest of her siblings, her baby brother, Thomas. Her back ached from the lengthy journey from Boston to Manhattan, and she stretched, mulling over the circumstances that brought them there.   
  
Vinzenz Olsen had lost his job in the meat packing plant that he had worked in, and her great-uncle, Tristan, not shirking family obligations, offered him a job in his factory in Manhattan. He had provided the means for the entire family to migrate from their home in Boston, in order for her father to accept the job.   
  
Upon examining the shoddy apartment in which the large family would live, Verena reevaluated her great uncle's generosity. Apparently, though he didn't intend for his nephew's family to starve, he was also not going to be abundantly eleemosynary. The neighborhood in which they were to reside was the epitome of poverty, making the dilapidated, broken-down apartment in Massachusetts seem almost elegant in comparison.   
  
Verena saw her own appall reflected in her mother, Anja's, face. In her father's eyes, she recognized the degradation he felt, not only at having to live in such a substandard locality, but being able to afford doing so, solely from the mercy of a miserly relative. Her heart went out to her father, and the pride he once had in supporting such a large family. She could only imagine the utter humiliation he felt in these present circumstances. She, herself, knew embarrassment one her age should not, and she realized that it was minute compared to that of her father's, he being the provider for their family. More, under the ignominy at the present condition, there was bitterness. Hatred that kith would allow them to endure such obloquy.   
  
Sighing acceptance of the situation, Verena gathered her oldest sister, Ilsa, into her arms, and carted her up the steps into their new home. Once inside, she realized that her previous concerns and thoughts were obsolete measured to those she had when she caught a glimpse of the interior of their dwelling. She gasped at the cracked walls, the mold which had apparently made its home there, and spider webs which inhabited most corners in the single roomed apartment. The room, also, from lack of insulation, was freezing. The frigid winter would definitely be hard on the Olsen family.  
  
"Down, Vee," Ilsa demanded.   
  
Complying, Verena set her six-year-old sister on her feet. She immediately regretted her decision when the child screeched and hurled herself back into Verena's comforting grasp after she spotted a large, hideous rat scurrying across the filthy floor.   
  
"Why are we here, Vee? I want to go home."  
  
"We are home, Ilsa. Papa explained that to us on the way over. We can't live in Boston anymore. Uncle Tristan is letting us live here."  
  
"But, it's so ugly here. Our house was nicer, and there weren't any rats there. I don't want to stay here."  
  
"We have to, Ils. There's nowhere else for us to go."  
  
At that moment, Anja walked in the room, a morose, resigned expression on her face, still holding the sleeping Thomas, and herding in the two youngest girls, Luisa and Petra in before her. Ilsa wriggled from Verena's embrace and dashed to Anja, tears staining her young cheeks.   
  
"Momma! We can't stay here! It's ugly!"  
  
"I'm sorry, baby, but that's the way it has to be, for now."   
  
Anja, seeing the misery of her four daughters, reformed her countenance to one of cheerfulness.  
  
"Girls, let us imagine this a game. We will see how long it takes us to make this place pretty. We can do whatever we want with it, but the rules are, we can't spend any money. How does that sound?"  
  
The three younger girls, easily appeased, eagerly agreed and began to explore the meager apartment, in search of how to begin their new project. Verena, however, was not so effortlessly soothed, and she approached her mother, speaking in concerned, but hushed tones.  
  
"Momma . . . Can we really live like this? How are we going to fit all seven of us in this tiny room?"  
  
"We have to make do, Vee. There's nothing else to be done. I'll have to depend on you more than any sixteen-year-old should have to be looked upon, especially by her mother. Unfortunately, you will have to forsake an education. I need you to stay home with the children while I find work. Ilsa is old enough to start school, so it's only the three youngest you have to mind. I'm sorry about all this, Vee. I'd really like for you to get your schooling, but sacrifices have to be made. It's the way it has to be for now. I'm sorry."  
  
"I understand, Momma, but you stay home. I'll get work. I'm younger, and I can tolerate the long hours better than you."  
  
"No, that I will not agree to. I will not have my daughter working in a sweatshop. You will stay home with the children, take care of the marketing, and our finances. Your father and I will be relying on you. Now, go help him unload the carriage. Uncle Tristan is expecting him in a half an hour."  
  
Verena was shocked. "He has to go to work today? We just got here!"  
  
"Uncle Tristan is providing us with all this. However meager an existence it happens to be, it is being bestowed by him, and we cannot disobey any of his wishes."  
  
Verena shook her head in disbelief. They had apparently, in accepting Tristan Olsen's parsimonious offer, made themselves his slaves. Their entire lives would revolve around the whims of the old scrooge.  
  
****  
  
In the Newsboys lodging house that same morning, Kloppman was waking the newsies from their slumbers. He made his rounds, rousing all the boys, one by one.   
  
"Race . . . Racetrack, get up, boy. Get up!"  
  
"Go 'way, Kloppman," Race grunted, "Go 'way, an' lemme sleep foah once." Turning on his stomach, he clutched his pillow over his head.  
  
Kloppman, rolled his eyes and walked to where Skittery lay to pick up his cane and carry it to Race's bottom bunk. He then began to beat the cane on the wood of the bunk right near Race's head.  
  
"Up, boy, up!"  
  
"Okay, okay! I'se up!" he yelled. As he sat up, he began to mumble incoherently about the abuses the newsboys suffered.   
  
"Eh, stop yoah grumblin' an' get goin' already!" Specs called.  
  
"Do ya want me fist in yoah face, ya bum?" Race retorted.  
  
Specs chuckled.  
  
"Ya couldn't soak me if ya tried."  
  
"Oh, ya wanna bet on dat? I'll put down two bits dat I can give ya a shinah da size a Brooklyn befoah ya even know I'se comin'."  
  
Mush jumped down from his bunk, walking to the wash room as the two boys argued. He figured, correctly that all the newsies would be occupied watching and cheering them on and he could get washed up and ready to sell before any of the normal morning scramble began.   
  
The boys usually rushed to the wash room to hurry complete their morning rituals before the girls were woken up. The four of them, and Pixie in particular, spent half the morning cleaning themselves up. Therefore, if the boys wanted to bathe or the like, they'd have to be quick and do so before Shady, the earliest riser of the newsgirls, stalked out of their sleeping quarters, cursing Kloppman and rubbing her eyes. When she strode to the sinks, the boys knew they had best get out of the way, for no sooner would Shady turn on a faucet, then Cricket stormed in after her.  
  
Cricket had no gripes about tossing off her clothes to wash in front of anyone, but if she saw any of the boys looking at her, she would make sure they hurt enough not to do it again. Thus, the guys learned quick enough to scram once the girls were roused.   
  
Mush, himself, wasn't too upset about having to rush. He figured that the sooner he was set to go, the sooner he left the lodging house, and therefore, the sooner he was able to look at the women of Manhattan as he peddled his papes. Aside from the excitement that a newsies life created, the headlines, the fights, and the money, looking at the girls had to be Mush's reason for sticking with the job, instead of seeking out his parents, whom he had been separated from when he was five.  
  
Though the sixteen year old boy could not remember his name, as he had been referred to as Mush for too many years to recall being known as anything else, he realized that there were ways to find missing persons, or for missing persons to find those looking for them. The fact of the matter was, he couldn't recollect anything about his parents, and he didn't care to. He'd been too long without them, and the truth of the matter was, he was having the time of his life.   
  
When all the newsboys and girls were ready to sell, even Pixie, who had been hurried along by Laces, the group began it's trek through the winter morning chill to the World building. Racetrack and Specs, who were being instigated by Cricket and Pixie, were still arguing and threatening one another. Aside from the four, no one paid much attention to the dispute, as the most entertaining portion was over. More, it was obvious that the pair were no longer serious about any of the caveats to hold any real appeal.   
  
Mush paid no mind to them, but began chatting with Kid Blink, comparing the girls they had seen the previous day.  
  
"I'se tellin' ya, Mushy . . . Dis goil was beautiful. I ain't nevah seen anyt'in' to compayah. If it wasn't for Maggie, I mighta tried to hook 'er."  
  
At this statement, both Cricket and Shady directed their attention to the conversation. Cricket, after quickly squeezing Shady's arm, rushed to the boys. She shoved Mush out of the way and addressed Kid Blink.  
  
"I, poisonally t'ink dat you should considah uddah goils. I know ya t'ink dat Mags is da one foah ya and all dat, but how are ya really gonna know if ya don't do some comparin'? I know foah a fact dat Maggie isn't good enough foah you, an' ya know, if you look around a bit moah, hang around some uddah goils, ya might see dat I'm right. Oah, ya could prove me wrong. Eiddah way, you'd be bettah off. Ya eiddah figgah out dat she ain't good foah ya, or ya shut me up."  
  
"Crick, I 'preciate da concoin, but I know what I'se doin', an' I don't t'ink you should boddah wit' it no moah."  
  
"Ah, ya jess don't know what good foah ya is all. I t'ink ya should . . ."  
  
"I t'ink you should leave me alone. Dat's what I t'ink. And leave Maggie alone too. She ain't done nuttin' ta ya."  
  
With that, the blond boy stalked away, leaving a fuming Cricket behind to take her fury out on Mush. She turned to face him, her temper not cooling, even as snow began to coat the ground.  
  
"Ya dumb bums! All a ya's! Yoah all a bunch a hard-headed idiots! I don't know what's da mattah wit' any a yous guys!"  
  
Silent, and wide eyed, Mush watched the tiny wisp of a girl lash into the male gender, not daring to interrupt, for fear of a black eye, or worse. Cricket, small as she was, was a fierce fighter when she was enraged, such as she was then, and Mush knew well enough to let her scream and have it done with then to interrupt and walk away hurting.  
  
Fit finished, Cricket stomped away, knocking over a passing girl onto the snow dusted street as she went. Mush eager to help a female, particularly one who wasn't biting his head off, ran to her, and offered his hand. When the girl looked up, Mush saw her hazel eyes brimming with tears. Her light brown hair was tousled, falling out of the pins that held it up, but lovely, nonetheless. As was his trademark, for which he acquired his name, his heart softened and he felt his limbs turn to butter.   
  
"Are ya hoit, oah are ya jess embarrassed?" he inquired kindly.  
  
Sniffling back tears, the long limbed girl gestured to a broken milk bottle on the ground.  
  
"Eh, deah's no reason ta cry ovah spilled milk," he quipped.  
  
"Oh, but there is. Especially when the person crying has a baby brother, three little sisters, herself, and her parents who need that milk, and they will not be able to afford another bottle until the next week."  
  
"I see. Well, den, dat does seem like a reason. But don't cry no more. Gimme a few minutes, and I'll buy you anuddah bottle foah ya family. Soon as I sell a coupla papes, I'll have enough money."  
  
"I couldn't ask you to do that . . ."  
  
"You ain't askin', I'se offahin'."  
  
Turning her gaze to the ground, the girl complied, and within ten minutes, she was, again, headed home with a bottle of milk in her hand.  
  
****  
  
Verena had never been so embarrassed in her life! Relying on a colporteur to bring milk home to her family was absurd. She mentioned nothing to her parents, or her siblings, as she poured out the ill-gotten milk for the evening meal.  
  
All throughout supper, Vee was reticent. Occasionally, her mother would look up, puzzled, at her daughter's silence. She asked no questions, however, much to Vee's relief, for what would she tell her mother of the handsome street rat who came to her aid that morning? Indeed he reigned in her thoughts as she ate, as she cleaned up, and as she sit listening to her sister practicing her lessons. Who was this boy, and what feelings had he stirred within her? Further, what could she do about seeing him again. It was certainly a large city, and with her chores and such, what were the possibilities of running into the same boy without it being fairly obvious she was searching for him. She knew not his name, nor had she offered hers, and that would make the pursuit all the more difficult. Her heart stumbled and fell at the thought of never seeing him again. It was the first time her pulse had ever raced simply by a thoughtful deed. Her breath quickened as she realized she had fallen for this dark stranger.   
  
"Vee?"  
  
"Hmm . . .?"  
  
"Did I say that right?" Ilsa demanded.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ilse, I didn't hear you. Do it again."  
  
Vee struggled to pay attention to the child reciting words she had just learned to read. Her mind, though, was elsewhere . . . On the streets of Manhattan with a dark skinned, curly haired, news carrier.  
  
Once Ilsa finished, Verena excused herself and went to the corner of the room which served as the sleeping space. She could still hear the conversation going on in the main portion of the room. Her father was tiredly, yet eagerly relaying the first day of his new job to Anja, who sat listening, her doleful eyes belying her cheerful, hopeful tone.   
  
"Soon, Anja, if I work hard, we will live in a bigger home. I will do everything that Uncle Tristan asks, and he will increase my salary. We will save all that we can and use it to find someplace better."  
"I do hope so, Vinny. We can't live like this, but I know you won't allow us to for long."  
  
Verena closed her eyes from the misery of her family and allowed herself to dream of a better life where her beautiful mother was dressed in gowns, her father in suits, and all the children were clean and donning clothes such as they could only imagine. She saw herself looking at them from outside a window. As she looked on, she noticed her mother crying. She couldn't imagine why, amongst all these riches, Anja would be so downtrodden..   
  
Looking down at herself, Vee realized she was still in rags. She walked to the door, hoping that her parents had purchased an elegant outfit for her in her absence. But where had she been? And why was she outside, looking in at this cozy, if slightly forlorn scene. Trying the handle, Vee found the door locked. She knocked, screaming in an inaudible voice, but not one of her family members moved a muscle in acknowledgment. She glanced around looking for her dark savior, but could only see desolation, and blackness.  
  
"Vee? Are you okay?" Petra asked worriedly.  
  
"Oh, Petey, I'm fine. Bad dream. But I'm awake now." She offered her concerned sister a tremulous smile and patted the tiny hand resting on her shoulder.   
  
"Okay. I was scared. You were crying."  
  
Disbelieving, Vee touched her own cheek, amazed to find it damp with the tears her sister spoke of. Hastily, she dried her face and pulled little Petra into a crushing hug.  
  
"It was a scary kind of dream, Petey. Everything is okay now. Go back to sleep." Reluctant to release the warm comfort of her sister's small body, Vee lay back down, still cradling Petra, who had already began to drift, in her arms. Grateful for the fact that Petra slept soundly, and wouldn't wriggle out of her embrace, Vee relaxed enough to slip into a fitful, but thankfully, dreamless slumber.  
  
****  
  
The next morning, Mush gave the tall beauty only a passing thought as he prepared to sell. He, as a rule, did not make a habit of dwelling on any of the women he may have met. He had observed, and learned from the mistakes of others, the pain it may cause if a newsie gives his heart away. Kid Blink was an example he would rather die than follow. Tied to the striking, yet aloof Margaret Hamilton, the daughter of the mayor himself, was poor Blink, and all the worse for it. Not only did he have to answer to her and therefore was no longer able to revel in the belles that Manhattan had to offer, but he had Cricket, and all the girls for that matter, riding on his back about it.   
  
Much as Mush loved women, he vowed that he would never fall for one. He would look, and occasionally touch, but he wouldn't ever give one his heart. He knew well enough that as attractive as women may be, they were quite like spiders. They lured you with their beauty and supposed helplessness, as a spider would lure it's prey with it's lovely web, and then, like the unsuspecting insect, a man would be trapped. Held within the mind-reeling, exquisite danger of a woman's love. Mush hoped to never experience that divine torture.   
  
"Hey Mushy, I ain't nevah seen ya so quiet! What's buggin' ya?"  
  
Mush turned from the mirror in which he was combing his kinky curly hair to look at the cowboy smirking behind him.   
  
"Ain't nothin' Cowboy. I'se jess . . . T'inkin'."  
  
"T'inkin'? You? I didn't know dat was possible." Jack jested.  
  
"Yeah, real funny, Jack. I'se very amused."  
  
"C'mon, Mushy, what's wrong?"  
  
"I was t'inkin' 'bout Blink an' Maggie. I was promisin' meself I'd nevah get in dat sich-i-ation."  
  
"Bein' wit' one goil ain't so bad, Mushy. Jess look at me an' Bet'any. We had a few little problems, but we'se okay. Havin' one goil is actually kinda gratifyin' if ya knows what I mean. Kinda makes ya . . . I don't even know how ta explain it. I feel like she's da most impawtant t'ing in me life."  
  
"See, dat's me point, Jacky boy, I want me life to meself. I don't want no female runnin' it. An' I don't wanna have no coicumstance weah if I did fall in love wit' a goil, I couldn't suppawt her an' a family . . . Eh, I dunno what I'se sayin'."  
  
"What made ya t'ink a dis, Mushy?"  
  
"I saw dis goil on da street yestahday, an' her family was so poah, dat dey couldn't affoad milk. Seven people in da family, an' dey couldn't affoad milk. It got me t'inkin', how could any decent man stawt a family, when he can't buy milk foah 'em."  
  
"Ahh, I see. Mushy's bein' practical. Nevah t'ought I'd see da day. Don't worry, deah, Mushy. You'se so ugly, no one would wanna have a baby wit' ya, foah feah dat da kid'd look like ya."  
  
"Yeah," Mush said, sarcasm dripping from his every word, "T'anks, Cowboy. You'se a great help, 'specially comin' from Don Juan 'imself."  
  
With that, the two boys parted company, but Mush's mind was far from relieved. The thoughts plagued him as he sold, and well into the evening as the boys gathered at Tibby's, served by the charming, though once lofty, Bethany Snyder.   
Bethany was the daughter of the once warden of the children's prison, The Refuge. She had been arrogant and imperious toward all the newsies, male and female alike, until her imprisonment and escape from the reformatory, her own father's old vocation before his arrest for misappropriation of the money given to the institution. Now, because of both that demeaning crisis, and her involvement with Jack, Bethany was no longer vainglorious, but rather looked upon the newsies as her friends.   
  
Mush held a respect for the girl that he hadn't known he could feel for any female. She was autonomous and independent, needing no one, but was also no longer one to look down on someone. She was able to provide for herself since her downfall after the death of her mother, and made the transition from well off to poor quite admirably. He felt an affection toward her that he supposed a brother would feel for his sister, though he was far from an expert in sibling emotions. In truth, he loved her. Not in any romantic sense, but as a friend would love another friend.   
  
Mush, though he fully intended not to love anyone, knew if he did fall in love, the girl could not be like Bethany. She was self-sufficient and much as that was a wonderful quality in a friend, Mush preferred his women to need him. He needed someone a little more like Sarah Jacobs, who couldn't fend for herself, and would depend on him to help her. It was a control issue more than anything else. He'd had no control over how his life turned out, and that didn't sit well with him. Mush desperately needed that aplomb in his unstable life, and he felt that if he was depended on, he could attain it.   
  
His thoughts, again, turned to the tall, willowy brunette with the broken milk bottle. She was someone who needed help. Her family was the apotheosis of poverty, and even the tiny fraction of a wage a newsie earned would be useful. The reward of a smile on the pale face of the girl would more than compensate for his abet.   
  
I don't need any females distracting me . . . Mush though miserably. He cursed his mind, and his God forsaken heart, for constantly keeping the girl in his thoughts. Shaking his head to clear away any remnants of her, Mush concentrated on his companions and enjoyed the rest of the night at Tibby's.   
  
****  
  
  
Three days. Three days in the rat-infested room, the icy city, and Verena was prepared to commit suicide. Her days were filled with marketing, minding her young, and eternally whiny siblings, and counting, and recounting the lilliputian hoard of money that was the family's sole existence. With the meager cache, Verena also had to plan the most profitable way to disperse what little they had for food, and to store away for any medical, or similar emergencies. The sheer uselessness of her entire being was driving her mad.   
  
In the few moments of quiet while her brother and sisters napped, Verena allowed herself to fantasize about running away from it all. She pictured herself in a penthouse wearing a silk shawl and eating strawberries. Even the mere chimera of it was relaxing. No whiny children, no worrying over how to evenly distribute money so the family didn't starve, and setting some aside for her father's pipe dream of living in a better home. Vee imagined that she had people to do all the worrying for her, and her biggest concern was what to wear to the governor's house for brunch that Sunday. A tear slid down her cheek at the beauty of the fiction.  
  
"Vee . . . I'm hungry!"  
  
Luise had awoke, and was rubbing her fists over her eyes, grinding away both her sleep, and Verena's daydream. Exasperated, Vee moved to collect her roused sister, and the motion woke the other two as well. Juggling her three small siblings, Verena shuffled drowsily to the dining area of the room to prepare biscuits and lard gravy, which had become the family's main source of sustenance. As usual the scant meal was not enough for the children, and like always, they were full of complaints.  
  
"Why can't we have something better to eat?" Petra whined.  
  
"Be happy you're eating at all," Vee muttered, "Uncle Tristan isn't exactly overfeeding us, is he?"  
  
Little Thomas, sensing his sister's dismay, began to wail. Verena, already exhausted from never having gotten a good night's sleep in the close quarters they were confined to, became even more agitated.   
  
Knowing that it would get her in trouble, and possibly cause one of the tykes to be harmed, Verena threw all her responsibilities away and after quickly instructing Petra to watch over the other two, stepped outside into the brisk November air. She inhaled, deeply the fresh air, and contemplated just leaving. She knew not where she'd go, or what she'd do with herself, but, nor did she care. She only knew she could take no more of the Hell her life had become.  
  
However, lacking any conviction, due to the oppression she and her family suffered, combined with her great love of her family, Verena took not a step away form the building, but plopped down on the stoop and proceeded to weep.  
  
  
****  
  
After nearly thirteen hours of selling, Mush ambled, downcast toward the lodging house. He was crestfallen at the results of the day, having only sold 21 of his 50 papes. Most assuredly, this was the worst turnout in all his years as a newsie. He made no profit today. Hell, he didn't even break even. On a whim, he decided, instead of returning to the lodging house, to reroute his course to observe Manhattan at night.   
  
Soon, he found himself in the poorest section of the city. The tiny street separating the crammed apartments was dusty, dirty, and utterly pathetic. Even more so, was the woman sobbing on the stoop of one of the miserably shoddy buildings. As he approached, he realized that the weeping lady was none other than the beauty he'd met through Cricket's antics.  
  
"Seems as doe every time I see ya, you'se cryin'."  
  
Verena looked up sharply at the sound of his voice. Hastily drying her eyes, she stood to face the man who'd been plaguing her thoughts for days. Immediately, her eyes dropped to the floor. Utterly humiliated, she searched for word.  
  
"Oh . . ." was all she could muster.  
  
"What troubles ya dis time?" he inquired politely.  
  
"Just tired of my perpetually useless life," she muttered.  
  
"Hey," he replied, attempting to reassure her, "Ya gotta figger, dat wit' so many people in da family, ya gotta be a some use. Doin' da shoppin' like you was for instance." he offered.   
  
"I do what's asked of me. That's all."  
  
"All da time?" he questioned, incredulously, for he never knew a girl to do as she was asked. With the females he was accustomed to, if you attempted to tell them what they should do, you were lucky if you walked away unscathed.   
  
"It's what's expected," she informed him matter of factly.   
  
"Well," he began, changing the subject, "since I've seen a bawlin' twice, and ya jess tol' me yoah deepest, darkest secrets, da least ya can do is put a name to ta teahs."  
  
"You're mocking me," Verena accused.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
At the melancholy tone in her voice, and her pained expression, though her eyes were still focused on the ground, he felt his limbs go weak. Taking her hand, he sunk to the stoop, pulling her with him.   
  
There was a terribly awkward silence between them, where Mush could not take his eyes off her, and she was unable to raise her eyes from her feet. Mush felt his heart breaking for this sorrowful soul next to him, and in shattering, it became hers. Stunned at the instantaneous headfirst tumble into love, he tipped her head back to meet her eyes with his, by placing a finger below her chin.   
  
"Verena Olsen," she finally told him.  
  
"Deah, dat wasn't so hard, was it?" he inquired. "Mush is my name. Pleased ta meet a, Verena Olsen."  
  
"Mush?" she asked, confused.  
  
He visibly blushed, even in the darkness.   
  
"I'se a newsie, and we all get names like dat, foah different reasons. Jack Kelly, he's owa leadah, we call 'im Cowboy because . . . well, he wants ta be one. Ant'ony Higgins, he's Racetrack, 'cause he likes to go down to da tracks an bet on horses. See?"  
  
"I believe I understand. Now, tell me how you acquired your name."  
  
Slightly embarrassed, Mush turned his gaze away.  
  
"I turn ta mush every time I see a pretty goil. Jess kinda go weak in da knees. Guys t'ought dat was funny 'specially 'cause I was only five when I joined da newsies."  
  
"Five?" She gaped at the thought. "But where are your parents?"  
  
"I dunno. From what I remembah, which isn't much, I jess kinda got lost, and started wandrin' 'round da city. Boy called Roostah found me sleepin' in an alley an' brought me to da lodgin' house. From den on, I was a newsie meself. Roostah's gone now, but we'se all a big happy family most a da time, so I got no regrets."  
  
"But don't you want to find your family?" she inquired incredulously.  
  
"Naw. Don't know now uddah family but da boys, and da foah goils. An' Kloppman's like a faddah ta all us. Dat's all I need."  
  
"I can't understand how that can be enough. I would die without someone to love me unconditionally. To need me. Even if it means living in a place like this," she continued, gesturing to the rundown building in which she lived, "love would be enough to suffice. To keep me alive and happy."  
  
"If dat's so, den why are ya out heah cryin' when you got yoah bruddah an' sistahs in deah who love ya an' need ya?"  
  
Her jaw dropped at the realization that she had left her siblings inside alone for so long. She jumped to her feet and rushed back inside, Mush right at her heels. The tears that he had talked away returned when she saw the three small children sitting silently waiting for her. At the sight of her, the two girls broke into a run to embrace their sister as though she'd been gone for a lot longer then ten minutes. Little Thomas clapped his hands and broke into a wide, toothless grin.   
  
"Vee! We're sorry! Don't leave us, we missed you!" the two girls cried.  
  
"See, Verena, you'se needed. You ain't useless. Dey need ya."  
  
Again her tear filled eyes sought his, and she bestowed upon him a smile that warmed his chilled body. He turned to leave and saw out the window flurries of snow flying around the night sky.  
  
"I love when it snows," Verena whispered absently, pressing her cheek to Ilsa's head, "It's like a fresh start for the world."  
  
Taking a chance, and a huge step for him, he walked closer and placed a gentle kiss on her small mouth. In doing so, he lost his heart to her, and vowed to do everything possible to ease her family's burden   
  
* * * *  
  
  
"What happened to you, Mush? You'se been walkin' around in a trance for da past two days. What's da mattah?"  
  
"Shady, ya wouldn't believe me if I told ya."  
  
"Try me," she challenged.  
  
"I'se in love."  
  
"You was right. I don't believe ya. Dat ain't possible. You love every female alive, it ain't possible foah ya ta be in love."  
  
"Well, I am. I met dis goil da uddah day . . . Cricket knocked 'er ovah, and I seen 'er again yestahday. She was cryin' both times, an' I found out why. She's poifect. She sweet an' pretty . . . I jess fell foah 'er. I never t'ought it'd happen meself, but it did. I love 'er."  
  
Shocked, she shrugged her shoulders and went into the girl's bunk to share the news. She couldn't believe it, there were dropping like flies. Blink and Cowboy, they were all falling for girls, and not the ones right under their noses. It wasn't fair at all. How was it that the newsboys seemed to draw the attention of outside females, but the newsgirls had no appeal whatsoever. Not even to the guys they lived with. It didn't make sense. She was sure to complain to the girls about this outrage.  
  
Meanwhile, Mush had found Jack and was excitedly telling him about his new affection for the German beauty. He informed his fearless leader that, like he did with Bethany, Mush intended to help her in any way possible. This meant, he told him, that he would not only give most of his profits to them, but he would also try to find a better paying job in order to bring in more money. In that way, not only would he feel elated for helping the woman he loved, but he hoped the family would accept him. That way, the path for him and Verena would be clear, and there would be no problem with them being together.  
  
"Anuddah job? Like what, Mushy? What do you t'ink you'se gonna be able ta do while you'se sellin' papes?"  
  
"I dunno, Cowboy, but I gotta do sumpthin'. Like you had ta help Bet'any, I gotta help Verena. Jess da way t'ings are."  
  
Jack shook his head, "You'se gonna do whatcha wanna, so I ain't gonna try ta talk ya outta it, but really t'ink about what you'se gonna be gettin' inta. It's ain't exactly easy bein' a newsie ta begin wit', but takin' on more on top a it, dat could really run ya ragged. T'ink about it befoah ya do anyt'ing."  
  
"Shoah, Cowboy," he agreed, but in his soul, he already knew the decision. There was no choice in the matter, he had to help her. Just thinking about her and her small siblings made his heart hurt. The look of the children who depended so much on their older sister while their parents slaved away just to put food on the table had him blessing the day that Rooster found him wandering the streets of the city. In his opinion, the life he led was far easier than Verena and her family's.   
  
As he walked to his bunk in the lodging house, he decided to bring Verena and her brother and sisters to Tibby's the next day, to treat them to drinks and to introduce them to the rest of the newsie gang. He could hardly wait to see the expressions of envy on his friend's faces when they spied the German beauty that he claimed. He grinned as he thought of the reactions he'd get on his acquisition. He was sure that the girls would die of jealousy at her loveliness and that the guys would approve of her at the least. Verena topped every girl that his companions had ever brought into the throes of the newsie life. Not that Sarah, Bethany, and Maggie weren't attractive, he contemplated, but Verena made the three look like rag dolls. Envisioning the way her sandy brown hair, which was perpetually falling out of its pins, flew around her lean face, wisps curling on her cheeks and her slender white neck made his finger itch to touch. To touch her hair and her face, and most of all to feel her thin, but unbelievably soft lips against his own again . . . The thought made him wish the night away. He longed for the return of daylight so that he could again seek out his beautiful Verena. He drifted to sleep with her face in his mind and her name on his lips.   
  
The next morning, after selling a good portion of his papes in Bottle Alley, Mush trekked to Tibby's. He figured after he'd had a glass of water he could ask the owner, one Nicholas Branson, if there was a possibility of a job opening. He hoped that the fact that he and his comrades frequented the place so often that Mr. Branson could give a few hours of work to a patron in need of some extra money. When he reached the door, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply before entering.   
  
"Hey deah, Mush!" a barmaid called out, "wheah's da rest a da gang?"  
"Dey's not heah, Lucy, I'se heah on business. Is Mistah Branson around?"  
  
Confused though she was, the woman nodded and directed the young newsboy to the back office where Mr. Branson was scanning over bills with his glasses in his hand. Lucy studied Mush for a minute before knocking on the door.   
  
"What?" came the gruff reply.  
  
"Mistah Branson, sah, dis heah is Mush. He's one a dem newsboys who comes in heah all da time."   
  
"Yes. And?"  
  
"Well, sah, he wants ta tawk wit' ya a minute, if ya don't mind."  
  
"Fine. Come in boy. Lucy, go back to your tables. I'm not paying you to eavesdrop am I?"  
  
"No, sah," she acceded as she dropped a wink at Mush and left.  
  
"So, what did you want, boy?"  
  
"Well, sah, I was hopin' that you could help me out a little."  
  
"Help you?" Branson queried, intrigued. He placed his chin in his folded hands and stared at the now uneasy newsie. "And how would I do that?"  
  
"Well, Mistah Branson, I met dis goil and I want to help 'er out and maybe get bettah off, money wise so dat maybe I could marry her a little way down da road. Da problem is dat newsiein' don't pay all dat much, seeing as on a good day I'se lucky ta bring home two bits. Dat ain't doin' nothin' for me, never mind dis goil."  
  
"Go on," the older man ordered.  
  
"Well, I figoired dat since I'se heah all da time anyways, you might considah givin' me a few owahs a woik?" Mush propositioned.  
  
"Is that the case now, boy?"  
  
"Yes, sah."  
  
Branson considered the situation for a few painfully long moments, as he analyzed the young man sitting before him.   
  
"I'll tell you what I'll do for you, boy," he began finally, "I'll let you come in and clear off some tables. I'll give you a penny for every table cleared, plus an extra two if you don't break anything. That way we both benefit. You get some extra money and my waitresses get a bit of a break. Do we have a deal?"  
  
"Yes, sah!" Mush assented, "t'ank you Mistah Branson. T'anks a lot! I really 'preciate it!"  
  
Elated, Mush practically flew to the shabbier side of Manhattan, feeling his defenses go up as the houses got smaller and closer together. How anyone could allow their families to live in such horrid conditions was beyond him. He knew, however, that Mr. Olsen was not to blame for his present circumstance, and inwardly cursed the skinflint uncle which Verena had spoken of. Even through his anathema toward the evil uncle, Mush felt his lips curve as he came upon the shack that housed his girl. As he marched up the steps, he honestly hoped she'd be as happy to see him as he was her.  
  
He knocked on the door and waited only a few seconds before a young girl who bore quite a resemblance to Verena poked her head out.  
  
"Can I help you?" she inquired sweetly.  
  
"I do t'ink you could. Is yoah sistah at home?"  
  
"Which sister would that be?"  
  
"Verena. Is she heah?"  
  
"Yes she is," the little girl tod him and began to close the door.  
  
"Wait! Could I tawk ta her?"  
  
"I don't know. You have a funny voice, and we're not supposed to talk to strangers."  
  
"But, ya see, I'se not a stranger. Don'tcha remembah me from yestahday?"  
  
Narrowing her little eyes, the sprite deliberated. A sparkle of recognition flared as she smile. "I remember you! You made Vee come back. You can come in, because I like you."  
  
Thoroughly charmed, Mush stepped through the rotting door that the child held wide open for him, a grin brightening her too thin face. He again surveyed the tiny one roomed apartment that the large family was reduced to living in and shook his head in commiseration. His life could have been worse than even this if not for Rooster . . .  
  
"Mush!" Verena exclaimed upon seeing him. "I didn't expect you. Would you like a biscuit?"  
  
"No, t'anks. I jess came 'cuz I gotta tell ya somet'in', ask ya somet'in', and well, wanted ta see ya again. Ya don't mind do ya?"  
  
Color flushed into her hunger paled face, "Of course not. Sit down, if you'd like," she offered, gesturing to a worn down chair by an equally worn plank table.  
  
Nodding, Mush gingerly seated himself. "Befoah I say anyt'in', please introduce me ta dis lovely young goil who let me in."  
  
"Oh," Verena smiled winningly, "this is my sister, Petra. Petey, this is my friend, Mush."  
  
"Hi, Mush," the youngster greeted him shyly.  
  
"Hello deah, Petey. Could ya look aftah yoah bruddah and sistah for a minute while I tawk ta Verena?"  
  
"Uh huh," she assented and left them in the corner that served as the kitchen.  
  
"You had to tell me something?"  
  
"Yeah. I got anuddah job tahday."  
  
"You did? But selling the newspapers alone must exhaust you. Why did you do that?"  
  
"Well, dat comes along wit' da question. I was hopin' dat you'd let me help ya out as much as I could, an' dat you'd . . ." Mush's courage left him as he stared into her earnest hazel eyes. "Listen, Verena. I don't know how much bettah a life wit' a newsie would be, but if you was my goil, den I could protect you an' help yoah family. I was hopin' you'd considah it." he finished quickly.  
  
For the fourth time since Mush had known her, Verena's eyes filled with tears. She let out a joyous sob as she flung her arms around him. He held her firmly against him and finally get his fingers entwined in her soft brown hair.  
  
"Oh, Mush, I'd love to be your girl! But you have to meet my parents now, you realize?"  
  
Swallowing a grimace, he nodded. He knew that would be a factor, but the finality of having to associate with parents still made him squirm a bit. Not that he thought parents were a bad thing. In fact, he thought they were great . . . For some people. He, however, had gotten along fine without them, and could have continued to do so. But, with Verena came the people that bore her, and therefore, he must accept them as well. He prayed that they would feel the same way.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
That evening, around the dinner table, Verena decided to bring up the subject of her new paramour. Her parents were tired from a long day of work, and she hoped the news would cheer them a bit.  
  
"Momma, Papa . . . I have to tell you something."  
  
"What's wrong, Vee? Did something happen today?"  
  
"Actually, yes. Two days ago, I was walking home from buying milk, and a girl knocked me over, breaking the bottle. A young man came to my aid and bought me . . . us . . . a new bottle. Yesterday, he found our home and kept me company for a while, and today he again stopped by to tell me the he got a job, and that he wanted to help our family."  
  
"And what does he want from you in particular, Verena?" her mother asked with concern in her voice.  
  
"He wants me to be his girl. I think I love him, Momma."  
  
A tear escaped Anja's brown eyes and tricked down her fair cheek. The tear was one of mixed feelings. She knew that her daughter was sixteen, and about the age that she herself had wed Vinzenz, but the idea of losing her to a man she'd not yet met broke her heart at the same time that the jubilant smile on the young girl's face sent it soaring. She glanced over to her husband to see his reaction and was relieve to see it revealed what she felt.   
  
"Verena . . . You've only been here four days. Don't you think this is a little . . . fast?"  
  
"Yes, Papa, it's fast, I know that, but . . ."  
  
"When will we meet this young man?" Vinsenz questioned, resigned to the idea.  
  
Verena, sensing her victory, jumped from the table and embraced both of her parents in turn, smacking a large kiss on her father's ruddy cheek.  
  
"I'll ask him to supper tomorrow."   
  
"All right, Vee."  
  
After supper was over, she danced around the kitchen as she cleared the table. Her heart soared as she pictured the meeting between her parents and Mush. They would adore him as she did, and he would wish that he were as lucky as she to have such wonderful parents. In time, he would consider them his, and they would value him as a son as well. She felt she was on a cloud as she washed and cleared the dishes. Her life had turned completely around in just the past few days. She had gone from a comfortable peace in Massachusetts, to the utter turmoil of her father's job loss and the move, to the complete bliss that being in love afforded her.   
Her parents watched silently as their eldest child cavorted about the kitchen area, each lost in their own thoughts concerning the situation. Vinzenz could not imagine that his daughter, who barely spoke above a whisper even to her family, could meet a man and profess to have fallen in love in a matter of four days. The thought was beyond his comprehension. His little girl was grown up. This realization had his age creeping up on him, and all at once, he felt more tired than he ever had before. This man had better be worthy of her. If he wasn't, and she suffered for it, he'd do everything in his power to return that suffering back on him ten fold. Though he loved to see his daughter deliriously happy as she was, he didn't know if the boys in this city were trustworthy and decent. Added to the fact that he knew nothing about this lad, he was extremely skeptical. He'd just have to wait to see about this man.  
  
  
  
* * * * *   
  
  
Mush stamped his feet before opening the door to Verena's apartment. Rain had drenched the streets of Manhattan the previous night, and most of the morning, and Mush's shoes, ragged as they were, were soaked and he did not want to track mud and water into his girl's apartment. He was elated, as this was the afternoon that his friends would meet his lovely Verena. All throughout the selling day, Mush's feet were light and quick, his soul buoyant, and his heart pattering with absolute joy. He sold all of his papers in a record amount of time in order to get to Tibby's to clear off tables. He had spent three hours there, and had earned himself thirty cents, which he intended to pass on to Vee, along with half of his earnings from selling the papes, another forty cents. He hoped that the money would aid her family in their troubles.   
  
Upon easing open the creaky door, Mush's senses were assaulted. His ears were treated to soft, sweet singing, his nose breathed in the delicious aroma of freshly baking bread, and his eyes feasted on his brunette beauty elbow deep in dough. There was flour smeared across her cheeks, and clumping in wisps of her sandy hair, but Mush didn't think he'd ever seen anything as lovely. He stood leaning against the closed door, and just watched, until little Ilsa caught sight of him and rushed over.  
  
"Mush!" she cried, launching herself at him. With a surprised laugh, he caught the young girl as she hugged him warmly.  
  
At the commotion, Verena glanced up. Her face brightened as a glowing smile lit up her work flushed face. Mush couldn't help but grin back knowing his color would rise and his knees would jelly. He set Ilsa back on her feet and walked to Verena, using every ounce of self control to keep from running. Standing in front of her, he reached out and ran a thumb over a smudge of flour on her cheek.  
  
"Hi," he whispered, before brushing his lips over hers. He felt her tremble, and pulling away, observed that her normally clear eyes of hazel were clouding. Paying no attention to the observant children, Mush curved his hand around the back of Vee's neck and pressed his lips more firmly against her quivering mouth. She pulled her hands out of the dough and fisted them in his hair as she returned the intent kiss.  
  
When they pulled away from one another, the eye contact remained, intense as the kiss itself. Only the tinkle of Petra's giggling broke them from their gaze.  
  
"You have bread in your hair," she snickered, her eyes alight with humor, and innocent naivete of the past moments she had witnessed. Reaching to the back of his curly black hair, Mush couldn't help but join in her laughing when he felt the clods of dough sticking to his brillowy fuzz. Soon, the other children, not even knowing the source of the amusement were howling right along, while Verena, not believing what had occurred, only smiled. Had she really just engaged in such inappropriate behavior with this young man, right in front of her small siblings? The joviality shared by them and Mush indicated that they knew not the implications of what had happened, yet she couldn't help but feel self-reproved . . . even as her heart soared. Once the children were under control, she addressed Mush.  
  
"So, what brings you?"  
  
"I jess t'ought I'd bring dis by," he explained as he brought the money out the pocket of his dirty knickers.  
  
"Oh, Mush, you really don't need to . . ."  
  
"I want ta," he cut her off, "Beside, I came by ta tell ya dat I'm takin' you and da little ones ta Tibby's ta get somet'in' ta eat."  
  
"I'm covered with flour and you have dough in your hair," she pointed out.  
  
"So, we jess gotta clean up a little, no problem."  
  
"All right," she conceded.  
  
"Great! I've been wantin' ta innerduce ya ta my friends."  
  
Verena paled, "I'm not good with people," she protested.  
  
"Don't worry about it. De only one ya gotta be concioned about is Cricket, and she ain't nothin' but talk most of the time," he half lied.  
  
"Okay, let me get cleaned and get the kids ready."  
  
A few minutes later the group was walking down the streets of Manhattan toward the restaurant. There was awkward silence at first, as neither Mush nor Verena knew what to say. Mush, in this silence realized he knew next to nothing about the girl he was almost sure that he loved, so he took the opportunity to learn more about Verena and her family.  
"Uh," he began, not certain how to approach the topic, "why'd yoah family move ta New Yawk?"  
  
"My father lost his job in Boston and my Uncle owns a factory here."  
  
"If yoah uncle is heah, why are ya livin' weah ya are?"  
  
"Uncle Tristan isn't exactly what you'd call generous. He is giving us enough money to survive, but nothing more."  
  
"I see," he concluded, dropping the obviously tender subject. They continued walking while Thomas, warmly bundled against the frigid winter air and held closely to his sisters warmth, started babbling sweetly, as only babies can do. The low prattling comforting to everyone.  
  
Just across the street from Tibby's they paused. Verena spied around twenty boys and four girls milling around the inside of the building. As they were all dressed similarly to Mush himself, she assumed that they were his companions. She felt her heart start to pound as she envisioned herself walking in with her brother and sisters and consorting with these people. She knew she was no better off than they were in status, yet she felt that she was lowering herself, in a way, to become involved in this lifestyle. Berating herself for the thought, she turned to Mush, nodding to indicate she was ready to meet his friends.   
  
Halfway across the street, Ilsa paused, "Vee, you shoe."  
  
Glancing down, Verena noticed that one of the strings that she used to lace her shoes were untied. "Go on ahead, I'll be right there," she told Mush as she passed Thomas to him and bent down to retie her shoe. The rest of the group waited on the sidewalk as Verena fiddled with her lace.   
  
At the same time, a man staggered out of the saloon and climbed a top his horse, digging his heels in to get the stallion to run. Inebriated, the man's eyes were half closed and he didn't notice the girl crouched down in the street.  
  
Gosh, I ain't nevah seen a goil so hung up ovah a straight shoe lace, Mush thought to himself as he watched Verena impatiently. Hoof beats filled the air and he saw the horse with its rider falling asleep on the mount. Hurry, Vee, he silently prodded, hoping that she'd be out of the road by the time the horse got near. However, the steed was barreling right toward his girl, and she seemed oblivious to anything but the damned string in her shoe.   
  
"Vee!" he shouted, snagging her attention. The horse was only feet away from her and when she sprang up in terror, he reared back, kicking out his front legs in rebellion to being startled. Verena toppled back, hitting the ground with a thud. Hoping that she feel only because she was frightened, Mush shoved the baby at Ilsa and rushed to Verena's inert form. Upon spying the blood pooling around her brunette locks, he let out an agonizing scream and fell to his knees.  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
"What was dat?" Laces queried, taking her nose out of the book she was currently devouring.  
  
"I dunno," Jack answered as he turned towards the front window. His eyes widened and he barely heard the gasps of the other newsies as they all caught a glimpse of Mush kneeling over a girl crumpled in the street. Jack was the first one out the door, but the others soon followed. While the whole gang of newsies rushed to their friend and the poor girl lying on the ground, Shady noticed the children crying on the sidewalk and tried to talk to them.  
  
"What happened?" she asked.   
  
Petra sniffled and looked up at the beautiful raven haired newsgirl. On a sob, she flung herself into her arms. "Vee was tying her shoe and a horse hit her," the tiny girl wailed.  
  
"Oh, God," was all Shady could think to say.  
  
Jack and the other newsies huddled around Mush and Verena, all asking questions at once. Finally, Cricket, raised her voice, silencing the others and getting the story out of Mush.  
  
"It musta hit 'er head," he said absently through his tears. Gently, he eased her head from the ground onto his lap, stroking the blood soaked tresses. "Musta hit 'er head."  
  
Pixie stifled a scream as she saw the wound from which the blood flowed. The center of the girl's forehead was all but caved in, the flesh torn and the bone shattered. She couldn't imagine what would have made such an injury.   
  
"She's dead, Mush," Specs informed him as gently as he could. He had read, not two months ago, a journal that had indicated placed on a body where one could feel a pulse, a sure indication that the person was living, and this girl's blood was as still as her body.  
  
"No," he murmured, "No, she ain't." He turned angrily on the spectacled boy, "She ain't dead!" Then he looked into Verena's lifeless face. "Dat bastahd on dat horse jess ran off," he muttered, shaking his head. His muttering turned into sobs that shook his entire body. Laces squatted down to put her arms around him while he wept.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
Mush listlessly listened to the priest say the closing prayer over the grave of Verena Olsen. He couldn't get the image of her tumbling backward out of his mind. He felt slightly responsible for her death, as he had failed to warn her in time. Her parents, thankfully, didn't blame him, however, as when he had met them at the funeral, her father had simply thanked him for making her last few days happy ones, while her mother bawled on his chest. Her sisters wore blank expressions on their faces, but hugged him fiercely when he approached them to bid them good- bye. As the few people who had attended the service drifted away, Mush wandered to the fresh mount of dirt covering the girl he loved. Though he thought he had cried every tear there was in his body, Mush felt the salty drops course down his cheeks. He reached down and grabbed a handful of soil, straightening as the snow began to fall. Verena's words echoed in his mind as he began his trek back to the lodging house.  
  
"I love the snow. It's like a fresh start for the world . . ."  
  
  
  
The End  
  
Kristen Leigh Anastasia Skarzynski  
12/20/00  
8:45 pm  
  



End file.
